


Take Care Of Yourself

by silveradept



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Uncle Aaron Lives, As Slice of Life as Being Spider-Man and The Prowler Can Be, Awkward Conversations, Gen, Phone Calls to Prison, Role Models
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 19:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18998905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveradept/pseuds/silveradept
Summary: Miles still keeps in touch with Uncle Aaron, mostly by phone. Getting shot didn't stop their relationship, but it definitely has changed it, and neither of them are really sure what happens now.





	1. This Call Is Being Recorded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pdq_88b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pdq_88b/gifts).



> [Morbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbane) really helped shape this fic into something far better than the original draft was. All hail those who give their time and expertise to beta-read.

"This call is being recorded," the voice told Miles as he waited for Uncle Aaron to get on the phone.

"Like everything else," Miles said, sighing. "At least you guys tell us up front." 

"Hello?" Uncle Aaron's voice said tentatively. 

"Hey!" 

"Miles! Good to hear you," Uncle Aaron said. He sounded stronger than the last time. More confident that the words were coming out right, too.

"How is therapy?" 

"Like everything in my life," Uncle Aaron said, grumbling. "They keep telling me I'm getting better and I keep proving them wrong."

"You did survive getting shot in the head," Miles pointed out. "After that, everything's getting better." 

"It never feels like 'better' when you know you've forgotten more than you've learned," Uncle Aaron retorted. "Enough about me. How's school?"

"Sra. Calleros still thinks I'm 'not working up to my potential', as if being a kid at a private school isn't enough." Miles had heard a lot about his "potential" from his family. Once, when they thought he wasn't around, Mom and Dad had talked about Uncle Aaron's "potential," too. Uncle Aaron might have some sympathy for him about being put on a pedestal.

"If you were just 'a kid at a private school,' it might be, but you're more than that," Uncle Aaron said. "You're a smart kid, Miles. I'm pretty sure your teacher wants what's best for you."

"Not you, too," Miles said, groaning.

"Yeah, me too," Uncle Aaron said. "We can all see that you're brilliant, Miles. We're trying to help you figure that out."

"Oh. I've got good news," he added a little bit later. Miles waited to hear what it was, but the recording about the call being monitored was playing again.

"Don't leave me hanging," Miles said, when nothing came from Uncle Aaron after the recording finished. Sometimes remembering was still a little tricky for Uncle Aaron, Miles had been told.

Traumatic brain injuries were a bitch to recover from, he had found out when he was researching in the library. Relearning all the things you already knew, and then having to do them over and over again until you had learned them as well as you had before. It would have been like having to go to school all over again. Miles was having enough trouble doing it _once_.

"Spider-Man...something." Uncle Aaron said.

"Oh, so you heard something good on the news?" Miles said.

"No..." Uncle Aaron said, but Miles could tell whatever he'd had in his head, it was gone.

Miles had never asked too much about Spider-Man. At least for now, it seemed like Uncle Aaron had forgotten that he'd tried to kill Spider-Man. Well, the new one, anyway. There were still times when Miles dreamed about being choked by his own uncle, the Prowler, at the direction of Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin. In desperation, Miles had shown his uncle who was under the mask, but then Fisk had shot his uncle for refusing to do what he was ordered to.

It was his fault his uncle was like this, Miles thought, feeling guilty that he was still as concerned about whether he remembered his nephew was Spider-Man as much as he'd been concerned about whether Uncle Aaron could walk, or talk, or write again.

"Did you see some dope Spider-Man tag somewhere in the yard?" Miles prompted.

"Nah," Uncle Aaron said. "Must've seen him on the TV somewhere. What happened to that Gwanda girl? Did you ever give her the shoulder touch? Guaranteed smooth move."

"Yeah," Miles said. "Yeah, I did." That disaster had been on Instapic almost as soon as it had happened, and Gwen had basically avoided getting close to him until he had figured out how not to stick to everything he didn't want to. 

"You charmed her, right?"

"Nah," Miles said, laughing. He could do a lot of things, but charming a girl wasn't one of them. "But I did get her number to be a study partner."

"Way to go, player!" Uncle Aaron crowed.

"She was all business, Uncle Aaron. I think she grilled me harder than Dad does when he thinks I'm lying to him."

"Where is she now?" 

"Gone," Miles said. "Transferred to a different school not too soon after all that stuff with the Kingpin." It was close enough to the truth, Miles told himself. That Gwen called occasionally and suggested there might be a way for them to hang out more soon was a bridge he'd cross when he got to it. And probably not with Uncle Aaron until he'd figured out what to say to Mom and Dad. "Hi, I've been texting with a girl who's in a rock band, a better student than me, oh, and also, she got bit by the radioactive spider in her dimension, so she also fights crime." didn't sound like the sort of thing you told your parents when you wanted to go hang out.

"Bad luck, Miles," Uncle Aaron said sympathetically. "She won't be the last, though. You got good genes."

"And a barber who can work miracles," Miles said, remembering how difficult it had been for Gwen to get her hair into something that resembled good style after he had pulled out a hand's worth from her right side.

"Exactly," Uncle Aaron said, and Miles could hear the smile on the other end of the conversation. "We might make a man out of you yet." 

"Not you, too, Uncle Aaron. It's bad enough with Dad." 

The recording for five minutes left on the call played. 

"Give my love to your Ma and Pa," Uncle Aaron said. "And ask them if they can put some more money in the commissary account. I miss being able to talk to them, and to you, something fierce." 

"Can do," Miles said. "Any other messages you want me to pass on?" 

"Just one. I love you, Miles. Nothing that I do, or did, should make you doubt that I love you and want the best for you in life. Study hard so you can make millions and treat your parents right in their retirement."

"From your lips to some venture capitalist's ears," Miles laughed. "I miss you too, Uncle Aaron. Take care of yourself, okay?"

One minute. 

"Okay," Miles heard Uncle Aaron say. "You, too."


	2. The Fine Art of Dating

"How's art class?" Uncle Aaron asked him on a different call.

Miles wasn't sure whether he meant actual art class, where they were doing a lot of work studying a lot of dead white guys and working on "fundamentals," which seemed to be a lot about drawing fruit on a table, or "art class," the excursions that he and Uncle Aaron had made to find the canvases of New York that cried out to be filled with masterpieces of spray paint and stencils.

"Well, you know," Miles said. "There's only so much staring at melting clocks you can do before you conclude white people are weird."

"Any field trips?" Uncle Aaron pressed.

"Yeah, but all we got to see was jewelry. We were right next to the statues! I was hoping to talk to you about them when we were done, but we never got to go in and take a good look." 

They'd watched a "documentary" together once that had claimed the reason most statues were broken was because it was a revolt against the aliens who were enslaving humanity back then. Uncle Aaron had laughed at it and said the real reason was because the statues were too beautiful and people couldn't work with such magnificence around them all the time.

Come to think of it, he said the same thing about why Miles's tagging masterpieces kept getting painted over. Miles told himself he didn't believe it, but actually seeing it for himself would have helped his confidence in not believing it a lot more.

"You'll see what I mean," Uncle Aaron said. "Any other field trips worth mentioning?"

This time, Miles knew he was talking about tagging.

"Nah," he said, partially because the phone call was being recorded (as it oh-so-helpfully reminded him again) and partially because being Spider-Man was exhausting. Cops chased him, criminals chased him. Doc Ock always seemed to be trying to start a fight with May Parker over something, but neither of them would ever say what it was. Plus, he still had schoolwork to take care of. Now he knew why Spider-Man had been a rich white college student; nobody else could afford it or have the time off needed to go save New York at the drop of a hat.

"Nah?" Uncle Aaron said, sounding surprised.

"School, extracurriculars, Mom and Dad trying to be supportive by taking all of my free time for 'family bonding' after...well, you know what happened," Miles said, pulling himself up short. He still loved Uncle Aaron, and saying "after you helped Spider-Man get killed, you tried to kill your own nephew, and you got shot for being loyal to your family over the crime boss paying your salary" didn't sound like love and support, like Mom always told him to give Uncle Aaron.

And, of course, because the calls were being recorded.

"Your Dad still not trust you?" Uncle Aaron said, sighing.

"I think he's more scared of me getting killed because I had my hands in my pockets," Miles said. "He's taught me everything he knows about how cops assess danger, and I think he knows it might still not be enough."

"Mmmmmmm," Uncle Aaron said, like he was thinking pretty hard about what to say next.

"Don't stifle your creativity," he said, after a pause. "You find a sketchbook, you draw. You find a beat, you rhyme. You find a canvas, you paint. Promise?"

"Promise," Miles said.

Not that he could tell Uncle Aaron about the places he'd been leaving stickers with the Spider-logo he'd designed. Being able to tag basically all of New York meant there were some places where nobody else could leave their mark. He tried to keep them hidden so they couldn't be seen except at just the right angle, a little gift to people who decided to look up at the right moment and see something beautiful.

They were never there for long, though. Once, he'd watched the work crew roll up in a cherry picker, grab the sticker, and move on. Maybe Uncle Aaron _was_ right about beautiful things being too distracting. 

"So," Uncle Aaron said, trying to sound casual, "any girls in your life?"

Miles knew Uncle Aaron couldn't see his eyebrows raise, and he took an extra beat to try and not let his voice match the height of his brows.

"Nobody," he said. Which wasn't strictly true. Gwen had figured out how to provide stable communication between dimensions, so they texted at each other and exchanged the occasional awkward selfie. She sent him concert recordings, he sent her sketches. They were friends.

"Nobody?"

"Yeah. Would _you_ wanna date a cop's kid at my age?" Miles deflected. Being a cop's kid was a death sentence to your dating life, that much was true, but being Spider-Man would be just as hard. There wasn't a good enough excuse that he could ever come up with that would let him try again with a girl if he ghosted her. He could tell the truth about why he did it and that he was Spider-Man and she'd still dump him before anything could get started. Maybe even faster, because being Spider-Man's girlfriend carried some pretty big risks. He wondered how Mary Jane Parker had managed being married to the guy for all of those years. He thought about Peter B. Parker, too — Gwen had said that he was trying to win back his Mary Jane. (She'd also said that it was the most entertaining show on television, so Miles was pretty sure Peter B. wasn't making a lot of progress on that goal.)

"Mmm..." Uncle Aaron said, bringing him back to the present. "I have some stories for you."

"Are you gonna tell me any of them?"

"Nah. Ask your dad."

"You know he won't tell me. He's so wrapped up in being the perfect dad he wouldn't say anything about...whatever these stories are about."

Uncle Aaron chuckled. "Your dad could tell you a thing or two about chasing a cop's kid. Long before he met your mom, he had it bad for a cute girl, Rose, in high school. The trouble they got into over love was pretty interesting to watch. From a distance.."

Well, that was the next week's worth of dinner conversations, Miles thought. Not that he expected his dad to say anything about that part of his past, but it would be nice to confirm that Jefferson Davis had been a kid, maybe even a teenager who made rash decisions once, instead of always being Dad.

"It never happened, though. She went to college, he went to the police academy, they lost touch. And Jeff met Rio. She's way better for him than Rose. When the right girl comes, you'll know," Uncle Aaron said.

"Thank you for the specific advice that I can use in my life right now," Miles said.

"Okay," Uncle Aaron said, amusement in his voice, too. "But you know that if you ever have any questions, or weird urges..."

"Hey, wait, no. I'm not having this conversation with you," Miles said.

The phone helpfully reminded him that the conversation was being recorded.

"And especially not because of that," he said, laughing. Uncle Aaron joined in.

"...you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Miles realized after Uncle Aaron had finished laughing.

"Yeah," he said. "You grow up so fast these days, so let an old man have his fun."

Miles flinched. Uncle Aaron was right. Everybody did grow up so fast. Uncle Aaron had contributed to Miles' sudden need for maturity, giving him a close-up view of his life leaking out of him. Miles tried to stuff that memory back in the box for dealing with later, when there was time to think about it. Because if he let that memory out, it would bring his fear of waking up one day to his dad's funeral with it, and Miles didn't want to think about a world where he didn't have his dad or his Uncle there for him. 

Being Spider-Man meant growing up, too. And accepting that he might never get to be an old man. Or Uncle Aaron's "old". Or even Peter Parker old.

"Miles?" Uncle Aaron said. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Miles said. "Just...really glad you're alive."

"Yeah," Uncle Aaron said. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

One minute left.

"You too."


	3. Face to Face Time

This was the first time that Miles would get to see Uncle Aaron since the accident. He didn't know who had pulled strings so that they could all talk to him, and for once, there wouldn't be something recording everything he said. They could talk a lot more freely than they had been before. And Miles had questions for his uncle.

"Hey, Uncle Aaron," he said. Pretending to look him over with an artistic eye, Miles shook his head. "They've got no taste in jewelry."

Uncle Aaron raised his shackles and jangled them.

"Fabulous accessories, don't you think? Brings out my best attributes," he said with some bite.

"You and me both know prison guys have no sense of style," Miles said. 

"Orange is the new black," Uncle Aaron said, smiling. "At least it's in my size."

"So what are you up to these days?"

"I'm filling out my bracket," Uncle Aaron joked, avoiding the question. "Got a great office pool going in my prison wing."

Miles looked at him. "That sounds pretty shady. What would you bet with?"

"This and that," Uncle Aaron evaded.

Miles looked unimpressed. "Did you want to look like a bad stereotype, or is it just me?" he said.

"What are you talking about?"

" 'This and that' sounds like what you have is something you shouldn't," Miles said. "Dad would probably lecture me about making better choices right about now."

"What kind of choices do you think I should be making, Miles?" Uncle Aaron sounded upset.

"What were you thinking about joining with the Kingpin? He's a shady-ass dude! No, he's _the_ shady-ass dude, more than any other!"

Uncle Aaron crossed his arms. Miles thought about stopping, but felt he had more to say.

"You taught me that hanging around shady-ass dudes lands you in prison, in the hospital, or in the grave. You just missed the last one, you spent plenty of time in the hospital, where you _know_ mama was stressed about you on top of her job. It was all over the evening news for weeks! Dad had to deal with Internal Affairs breathing down his neck and got stuck on desk duty until they were done. It was really tense around the dinner table for a long time."

"Hola, cuñada," Uncle Aaron said dryly. "Did she tell you anything else to say to me?"

"Not directly, but I learned a few more words I was forbidden from ever repeating in polite company while she was wound up about you."

Uncle Aaron smiled, breaking the tension.

"Your mother was always good at finding creative ways to tell everyone what she thought about them," he said. "And at keeping everyone around her on the straight and narrow."

"Yeah," Miles said. "So, what happened? Why didn't it work for you?" 

"Okay, fine," Uncle Aaron said, giving in. "I got involved with him because if you do something bad and it's not stealing from the bodega to eat, he's responsible for it. He's got a hand in everything, if he doesn't control it outright. That name's not for show."

"Uh-huh," Miles said, still not convinced. "You weren't just some street thug shaking down people who were late on their protection money. He had you on speed dial or something, 'cause it's only in cartoons where the low-level guys have serious hardware."

Uncle Aaron shrugged.

"Come on," Miles said. "What are you worried about?"

"I'm worried about you, Miles," Uncle Aaron finally said. "It's easy to walk a path that promises power and wealth for you for a little bit of your soul. And then more for a little bit more. If you don't care, or you don't notice, that's when you get everything you want and no way to enjoy it."

"Did you think about what that might do to your family?" Miles said. "My teachers were looking at my work more closely, but trying not to show that they thought I might be a fraud or a criminal. I couldn't find a lunch table with people who would talk to me.

"Now who's being selfish, huh? It wasn't a picnic on my end, either. I wanted to leave so many times, but once you're in that far, you come out in a body bag. The best I could do was to try and stop any of that from affecting you."

"It affected me," Miles deadpanned back at him. "You can see that. There were a couple of guys who jumped me because they saw you instead of me."

"Did you kick their asses?" Uncle Aaron asked, a knowing smile on his face. "I know we didn't have all that much time, but I wanted to make sure you could defend yourself."

"I made them think about their life choices," Miles said, giving Uncle Aaron a grin that suggested he'd defended himself just fine. Miles hadn't had to hurt anyone, really. Spider-sense made it difficult for them to sneak up on him, or to surround him, or to do anything other than try to find wherever he was. Because he'd ran as soon as the opportunity presented itself to get away cleanly. He didn't need any of that macho bullshit. It had gotten Spider-Man killed. It had nearly gotten Uncle Aaron killed. It could get _him_ killed.

The way Uncle Aaron had asked, though, it sounded like he wanted to know if Miles had fought well, responded to the potential of violence with violence. After he said it, though, Uncle Aaron was looking at him with a look that said--

"Bullshit, Miles," Uncle Aaron said, giving voice to the look. "Your dad would put you on lockdown and I would have heard your mother yell at you from inside my cell."

Miles deflated.

"Okay, you're right. I didn't even fight, just ran away."

Uncle Aaron smiled warmly, confusing Miles.

"Your parents are doing a good job with you. They're raising a fine man, someone who doesn't get into fights he can avoid. Someone who can make art anywhere, and put art anywhere."

Uncle Aaron turned his head to the side, as if he were ashamed.

"They're raising you a lot better than I tried," he said softly.

"What?" Miles said.

"I thought your parents were too strict. I thought you could do with some freedom. Some creativity. Some place that hadn't been thoroughly checked to see if it was safe before they let you in."

"It was pretty cool," Miles said. "You didn't treat me like I was six."

"Yeah," Uncle Aaron said, sadly. "I thought you could handle a little bit of life. Not the stuff that I was already in. I was worried you were going to go join a gang just to feel like you had somewhere that treated you with the respect you deserved."

Miles blinked. "So?"

"I know where that leads," Uncle Aaron said. "Funerals. Lots of crying families. More funerals. It doesn't stop, Miles. There's always another hit, another disrespect that needs avenging, another raid. We tear ourselves apart."

"So you decided, instead, that you were going to throw in with the worst guy in the city?" Miles said, raising his eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like trying to be smart."

Uncle Aaron laughed ruefully. "It wasn't."

"Are you actually going to tell me that story?"

"No," Uncle Aaron said. "You don't need that story. I'm just another black man who turned to crime and couldn't be a role model for his family."

"Except you survived, and you became, like, a supervillain," Miles said. "I mean, I suppose that's not something to, uh, aspire to, but I'm pretty sure not everybody gets to do what you've done. And you got as far as you did because you were smart."

"I got shot anyway," Uncle Aaron said. "Being smart at stupid things doesn't mean much."

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"So what happens to you now?" Miles asked. "It's not like I can invite you to dinner once a week or say that I'll see you at Christmas."

""I'm probably going to solitary. For my own protection," he added, before Miles could say anything. "Just because someone's in prison doesn't mean they're any less dangerous. And in here, Spider-Man can't protect me."

That much was true, Miles thought. There had been a lot of barely-believable excuses he'd had to use whenever someone came the apartment to try and finish the Prowler and Miles had to stop them. It was weird, because putting them in jail meant potentially getting them closer to Uncle Aaron, rather than father away. It wasn't like there were enough prisons everywhere so they could all be held separately. But telling Uncle Aaron about all his old colleagues who kept coming might mean Uncle Aaron could put enough together to remember that Miles was Spider-Man. Which might trigger remembering what he had done to Miles. Miles wanted to spare Uncle Aaron that pain if he could. 

"Hey," Uncle Aaron said, reading Miles' expression. "I'm tough. You are, too. We're not going to let this get to us."

Miles hugged his uncle.

"Take care of yourself," he said.

"You, too," Uncle Aaron replied. "Say hi to your mother for me."

"Do it yourself," Miles said. "She's coming in next."


	4. Summer Job Prospects

They talked regularly. Phone calls, mostly, about this and that thing, about school, about girls, about art. Safe topics. Stuff that didn't have to do with being Spider-Man, or fighting crime, or thinking too hard about the fact that telephone calls and the occasional visit were going to be the only way that Miles could see his uncle. 

Miles did finally get to see the statues, but it was in Gwen's universe. They were really pretty to look at, but he didn't think they would stop anybody on the street or anything. And before they both realized how much time had gone by, Miles was calling with really good news.

"Congratulations," Uncle Aaron said. "NYU is a great art school. Does that mean you'll be taking college classes while you're still in high school?"

"Kind of," Miles said. "It's more like a summer internship for high-school kids. They'll hire us, and pay us, and they'll teach us while they're at it."

"Knew you'd find a way to make money with your art," Uncle Aaron said. Miles could feel the pride in his voice over the telephone.

"I'm going for science," Miles said. "After Alchemax got shut down by the Feds, Sra. Calleros found a different scientist to do a field trip with. I told you about Doctor Connors, didn't I?"

"You probably did," Uncle Aaron said. "My memory's still pretty fuzzy now and then. Tell me again."

"She's doing some really neat research about cell regeneration. Like stem cells on steroids. She thinks that maybe one day, we can make the human body regrow amputated limbs. Or fix eyes or ears or anything else that's for some sort of physical cause."

"What about brains?" Uncle Aaron asked. "Anything in there that will help with bad memory?"

"I didn't get to ask her on the trip, but I did find out that she takes interns from students at NYU. So that's what I'm planning on doing. Maybe I'll get to join her lab full-time."

Having access to lab equipment would be a big help for Miles, and for Gwen, too. They'd had more than a few things where trying to puzzle out what was going on using the Junior Scientist "My First Microscope" kit had gone terribly. Gwen had laughed when he told her that was all he could get without someone wondering why a black kid needed access to a functioning lab, or assuming that a black kid wanted a lab to make drugs in.

With actual equipment and resources, maybe they could both study their Spider-genes enough to understand it. Gwen had brought him around to the idea after some time telling him that if they knew what had happened to their genes, they might be able to give themselves new powers. 

Frankly, it looked like Dr. Connors was the best opportunity that Miles would have, She'd told them on the field trip that she wanted students with hustle and drive more than a brain full of formulas. Something about great science being two percent inspiration, and ninety-eight percent figuring out how the inspiration actually works in the real world.

"A scientist?" Uncle Aaron was clearly surprised, but he recovered well. "I didn't see this coming, but I'm happy for you."

"Thanks. Figured I could continue to break the mold on everything, you know, redefine expectations and proclaim to the world, 'This is what Miles Morales can do.' "

"That always seemed like something you were going to do with your art," Uncle Aaron said. "Are you still going to draw and paint?"

"Yeah," Miles said. "If the lab is anything like it was in school, there's going to be a lot of time that I can draw while I wait for machines to give me results."

Miles knew he was exaggerating. He hadn't stopped drawing—he _couldn't_ —but saving New York from a seemingly-infinite number of bad people took more and more of his free time. And it wasn't like he was getting paid to do that. 

And, at least a couple times, he'd gotten grounded for not keeping up with his schoolwork. Thankfully, New York proved that it could survive for a little while without Spider-Man. Truthfully, Miles didn't want to test that idea too often.

Plus, he liked being Spider-Man. It was the one part of his life where he could do good and be a superhero, full stop. He wasn't "the scholarship kid." Nobody asked him what project he came from, or where to get the best weed on campus. Spider-Man didn't have his dad want to take him to school in the back of a squad car.

When he was Spider-Man, the world didn't see him as anything but Spider-Man. He wore black, he talked Brooklyn, and he could do just about anything, including fighting crime.

"I like this swagger from you, Miles," Uncle Aaron said. "Means I taught you something about courage after all."

Miles blinked as a lot of pieces fell into place. It had taken time for Miles to recognize that being a superhero wasn't just about slinging webs and beating up bad guys. There were a lot of tough decisions involved. Uncle Aaron had had to choose between his job and his family. And while Miles was glad he'd picked family, he hadn't realized what Uncle Aaron was giving up by letting Miles live. That Uncle Aaron might have known what he was giving up when he decided not to kill Miles. 

Uncle Aaron had decided to stay in prison, too. There'd been enough attempts at breakouts (or break-ins) that Uncle Aaron probably could have disappeared and nobody would have known he'd left until it was way too late. Miles already had read plenty of articles exposing how much the guards didn't care how prisoners got treated, so long as they stayed in prison. And Uncle Aaron was choosing to stay in prison for the rest of his life.

His uncle had never sounded resigned or defeated. He'd never given up, and he'd never told Miles to give up, or to stop caring, or blamed any of the systems that deserved to be blamed for putting him in this place, for shaping his life by cutting off other pathways.

Or, at least, he'd never done it in front of Miles.

"Yeah," Miles said, breaking into a broad grin, even though he knew Uncle Aaron couldn't see it. "Yeah, you did. That's why I'm going to NYU. Because you gave me the confidence to pursue what I wanted and what I was good at."

One minute.

"Take care of yourself," Miles said, and he meant it more than he had before.

"You, too," Uncle Aaron said.


	5. What Uncle Aaron Knew All Along

Miles was still safe. 

The nightmare kept coming back to him when he slept, showing him the picture of his arms around Miles's neck. Because it was Miles, even if he was wearing some sort of Spider-Man costume.

The therapists kept telling him that he was projecting. Abandonment, or hiding the truth from them, or some other thing that he needed to admit to himself about the broken relationship he had with his parents, or his brother, or Miles.

It was bullshit, but it was better than admitting the truth. That nightmare wasn't some part of his subconscious playing tricks on him. It was memory taunting him with what he had almost done.

He'd seen the kid--Miles--as a Spider-wannabe, someone who would be scared off the first time he had someone actually pursuing him. The kid had turned out to have some pretty good skills at getting lost, and he'd even looked a little bit like Spider-Man, but he wasn't Spider-Man, and eventually, the Prowler had caught him. It was an unfortunate coincidence that it was a kid, but it couldn't be helped. Some kids had more balls than brains.

And then it hadn't been just a kid, it had been his nephew. And he'd hesitated. And then there was a real gap in his memory, but they'd filled it in about how he'd been shot in the head, and he'd had to relearn some things, and remember others, and it had taken a long time to get back to who he was now.

When the nightmare got too bad, he called Miles. He never said that he remembered what he'd done. Better to let Miles believe that he'd forgotten that trauma, so that he could be Uncle Aaron again. So that Miles could be his nephew again, and they could talk about art and school and girls and all the normal things that uncles talked about with their nephews. 

Safe topics.

Miles asked him about why he'd kept being the Prowler, even after he'd figured out what he was doing. Maybe, when he had an answer that didn't say "Because I didn't believe it would ever be you," he could tell him.

Miles never asked him directly if he remembered trying to kill his own nephew. He was a smart kid, he'd probably figured it out already. 

"You ever have some questions where you don't want to know the answers?" Miles had said in their last phone call. "Like whether or not a girl likes you?"

"Because if you get the answer, then it becomes real, and you can't deny it any more?" he'd said.

Miles had paused just a little too long for it to actually be about girls, even though he'd talked about whether or not he should take Gwen's continued willingness to hang out with him as a sign she was into him after all. 

Jeff and Rio didn't ask, either. About any of it. Jeff had given him the first hug he'd gotten in years. Rio had also given him a hug, although she'd also explained to him, in both languages, in terms that made his ears burn, exactly what she thought about his lack of thinking, his decision-making ability, and what kind of role model he was being for Miles now. 

He knew that Rio ran the family before that. Now, he _felt_ it. He could see her hand, Jeff's hands, both of them, in the way Miles talked to him and what he complained about. They were keeping Miles safe. Because of him, and from him. He had been dangerous to Miles, and no parent willingly let someone be dangerous to their child like that again. The best he could do now was talk, be a safe voice on the other end of a phone line, and if he did his job right, Miles wouldn't think too hard about where he was when he was talking to him.

Miles called to make sure he was safe, and to tell him about his life, and to see if he could manage to be the role model he'd failed to be before.

It didn't stop the nightmares. But he would never tell Miles about that.

"This call is being recorded."

Just like everything else.

"Hey, Miles. How's life?"


End file.
